Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. Leonardo was to me nothing at all. . ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog. ” Sydney Courtlaw followed his timid knock.
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